


Hallowed Be Thy Name

by Hydra_In_Brooklyn



Category: Agora (2009)
Genre: Christian Character, Eventual Relationships, Greek - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Paganism, Romance, historical fiction - Freeform, roman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_In_Brooklyn/pseuds/Hydra_In_Brooklyn
Summary: (Probably a good idea to watch the movie Agora first, or at least get acquainted with the history of Hypatia and Christianity vs. Paganism at the time)Following Hypatia's murder, Orestes, the Prefect of Alexandria, is left with an empty heart with seemingly no end to the pain Christianity has caused him. Once a pagan, and now a Christian for political advance, Orestes is left with little choice but to try to find himself again in Christianity, the religion that spelled his muse's ultimate doom.However, Orestes isn't entirely sure he wants to drop his new religion entirely--his childhood acquaintance, Synesius, (Now the Bishop of Cyrene) has managed to tug at the heartstrings of the Prefect, causing both of them to question their beliefs and how much their religion means to them in order to see their relationship through.





	1. The Aftermath of Hypatia

The sky seemed to have a more pale blue hue than usual. The salty breeze from the ocean just outside of Alexandria swept through the halls of the house and deposited hot sand at the bases of large stoic pillars. The day was hot and dry and even the clear pond in the center of the outdoor lobby seemed to glisten less than before with the lack of lifeblood in the atmosphere.

Orestes lay where he had collapsed in his wine-laced stupor the night before on the chaise. The silk that draped over the piece of furniture that he had once picked with such care from a well-known craftsman in the area was ridded with grit from his shoes that he had forgotten to loosen. The minuscule pieces of sand pressed uncomfortably into his exposed skin, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he stared at the cloudless blue sky.

She was gone. 

She was gone and he could never have her back. He could have done something, couldn’t he? He had become a prefect to make a difference, as cliché as that sounded. He had taken an oath to protect and guide the people and he had failed in such a massive way. He had lost one of his closest friends. He had possessed so much power and yet not enough to save her.  
None of that mattered now because she was gone and she would never come back. Not after what they had done to her.  
Orestes allowed his lips to part; They were chapped from the elements and his cheeks that had been victim to the drunken tears the night before burned with the memory of his anguish.  
He was hungry and yet he knew food would have no taste, so he put off summoning his servant. Instead, he gazed at the heavens, hoping, for the first time in his life, that there was some afterlife that might have received his dear friend Hypatia. Maybe she didn’t believe in such things, but he would feel ore at ease knowing that she still lived on somewhere, unable to feel the earthly pain of their domain.  
He had begun to close his eyes again—his eyelids felt unreasonably heavy—when the sound of voices crept through the chamber from the doors at the opposite end. He had told Marcellus the night before that he didn’t want visitors. Seeing the faces of the people sickened him—they had been partly responsible for the death of Hypatia as well and he didn’t have the heart to represent the masses when he knew what they had done.  
There was a loud banging on the wood of the door that echoed through the chamber. “Orestes!” a voice shouted. The banging persisted. “Orestes please!”  
He rolled over to his side, his head spinning into the beginnings of a hangover when he did. His stomach turned and he propped himself up on an elbow in order to avoid getting sick.  
“Orestes!”  
It was obvious that he would have to speak with Marcellus—his request had been solid enough, but apparently his slave had missed the part where he had made it clear that there would be no visitors. The matter hadn’t been up for discussion.  
“Orestes!”  
Orestes’ temple pounded and he gritted his teeth. He let out a groan, which trailed into a snarl when the banging in the door persisted. “Leave me!”  
“Orestes—It’s Synesius.”  
Orestes looked across the room at the door. Something dark and aching clutched at his heart.  
“Does that make a difference?” he asked softly, too quiet for Synesius to have heard through the walls.  
“Please, Orestes,” Synesius’ voice dropped a little and Orestes had to strain to hear him. “I need to talk to you.”  
Orestes pressed a palm against his forehead. He knew Synesius wouldn’t surrender his attempts to see him, but he would have a hard time looking into the eyes of his old friend after all that had happened. Hypatia would have wanted him to, though, and as much as he hated to disregard his own feelings on the matter, there was more at stake here than his pride.  
“Marcellus, grant the Bishop entry,” he called.  
The doors opened at the other end of the room and daylight from the hall spilled over the shadows in the corner of the lobby. He gazed across at Synesius’ figure, clothed in shadow at the moment, trying to come up with something to say that didn’t reveal the very raw feelings of betrayal he harbored for the bishop at the present. He could think of nothing.  
“Orestes--,” started Synesius, once he came close enough to talk lowly.  
“It’s Sunday, Synesius,” said Orestes, cutting across Synesuis. His tone had a bite to it and his guest immediately sensed it, slowing his pace cautiously.  
“It is.” Said Synesius slowly.  
“Why aren’t you with your Christian brothers in church?”  
Synesius looked down at the floor. “Why am I not with our Christian brothers? The mass has already ended and half the day is gone. I understand that may be a surprise to you, considering you have been sleeping through the morning.”  
Orestes groaned loudly and pushed himself off of the cushions where he had passed out the night before. “Get out, Synesius, or I will have you dragged out. If you have come here only to mock me for my lack of appreciation toward your fellow murderous brothers that you kneel with on holy days, then I have nothing to say to you. As it is, I don’t feel like I could have talked to you had you not treated me already with disrespect.”  
“Please, Orestes—I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Synesius. “I came to offer my condolences. What happened to Hypatia was horrifying and I wanted you to know that I had no part—“  
“You had no part?” Orestes took a few steps toward his visitor. Synesius gazed back at him evenly. “You bade me to sacrifice her to the hands of the people of Alexandria—the same people that tore her apart are the people that had me raised to this office. I have nothing but disgust for myself and contempt for my people and sorrow for the loss of the friendship that we once had. Your involvement in the church has changed you, Synesius. I thought that our being reunited would have been beneficial for both of us, but it seems since you have returned, you are the shadow of a person I knew once and my Hypatia…Hypatia is dead now.”  
Synesius jaw flexed when he gritted his teeth. He said nothing, though, and chose instead to swallow and drop his gaze to the tile below their feet.  
The emotion Orestes had elicited from Synesius, however small, pulled at the ache in his chest. He didn’t want to forsake his classmate after what they had been through together, but he knew that he couldn’t bear the blame alone. It certainly would have been selfish for Synesius to have expected such a burden from him. “I’m not sure how I am supposed to forgive this,” Orestes said, almost as an afterthought.  
Synesius nodded solemnly. “I understand.”  
There was a silence. When they had gotten reacquainted each other again after such a long time apart, Orestes couldn’t have imagined having a better companion. Now, hearing himself admit his inability to look past their differences in the wake of Hypatia’s death—it was devastating.  
“Orestes—“  
Orestes looked up at Synesius.  
“I am sorry,” a tear slid down Synesius’ cheek. “With all my heart I am sorry for the pain that’s been inflicted on you. I never meant for any of this to happen. I know it’s not my place to ask such a favor of you, but I hope that one day you might forgive me for this.”  
“Please don’t ask that of me right now, Synesius.” Orestes said, holding up a hand to quiet the bishop. “I treasure what we had before all of this and I don’t want your persistence to tarnish those memories.”  
Synesius’ brow furrowed and another tear fell, but he bit his lip and nodded, looking anywhere but at Orestes.  
“Please leave,” said Orestes, feeling his own eyes sting.  
Synesius stood a moment longer, but then backed away from the center of the lobby. He drew a thumb over his cheek before he turned away, his body dissipated into the shadows of the corner of the room again.  
Orestes watched him go, feeling like a piece of him had gone with his old friend. It was everything he could do not to allow his knees to buckle like they so desperately wanted to.  
Synesius stopped short before the door, halfway turning back to face Orestes.  
“I loved her, too, Orestes. Your heart has not been the only victim here.”  
As soon as Synesius closed the door behind him, Orestes collapsed again onto the chaise. He buried his face into his hands and wept again, this time for the bond between him and Synesius that for some outlandish reason he thought he had the power to sever.


	2. The Ex-Prefect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost a month after Hypatia has been killed, Synesius is leaving Alexandria and Orestes, well... he is, too.

It had been almost a month since Hypatia had been killed. 

Synesius dipped the tips of his fingers into the fountain of holy water at the doors of the Church. He glanced back at the altar at the other end of the room and let his gaze wander up and over the carved wooden cross that hung there. Without the activity being something that needed much consideration, he traced the sign of the cross over himself.   
Things had changed, indeed, but they weren’t really for the better. All of the things he loved about his religion were still relevant, but all of the dark and hateful side effects that sometimes reared up from the Christian masses were also very much alive as well. He had baptized a group of small children just that morning, but he had also wrenched a stone out of the hands of one of Christianity’s more ravenous followers.   
The peace that he had treasured so much that came from becoming a Christian had been fleeting at best at these times. He had tried very hard to hold onto the better parts of being a Bishop, but it was a hard task when he looked into the eyes of those he knew were being hurt by the vigorous advances of the church. He hadn’t always been a Christian.  
Synesius pulled at his robes to ease the creases that marred the sandy-colored cloth and turned away from the fountain, making his way outside into the sunlit courtyard.   
“Synesius!”  
He turned to see who had called him, finding one of his peers from Cyrene.   
“Brother Ander,” he greeted with a nod.  
“Brother,” said the newcomer, Ander, smiling. “Our things have been packed and we are ready to leave for the way home.”  
“Alright.” Synesius squinted a little in the sunlight, leaving off as if he would say more. Ander waited.   
“I think I’ll stop by the Prefect’s court on our way out and bid him goodbye…” said Synesius finally.  
“Orestes? Why?”  
Synesius pressed his lips together and shaded his eyes. “The Lord would want me to make things right with him again. The last time we parted, it wasn’t without wounded feelings.”

 

Orestes sat in his Prefect’s chamber. He had been in need of some time alone after having been barraged with pleas and complaints from the counsel that morning and he had sent the guards to stand outside to the doors of the room while he took a break from the masses. Once he was completely alone, he pulled a small script from his robes that he has savaged long ago from Hypatia’s chambers before they had been raided following her death. It was a small collection of musings from the philosopher. Notes scribbled excitedly about the orbit of the Earth and the alignment of the planets and sun. Nothing that he could afford to be found on his person, but nothing that he could do without.  
The new Christian rules were clear about such studies and he knew he could be tried and executed if someone found his collection of her works, but he wasn’t necessarily afraid of dying at this point. It might be a relief, actually. The people of Alexandria were trying his patience and their petty new grievances seemed amplified with their newfound Christian beliefs. All of the sudden, Alexandria was blessed with saints that had never been wanted and sinners who were hastily pointed out by these so-called saints for choosing to live with too many freedoms for the likes of Christianity. It sickened Orestes greatly to have to sort through such grime in order to seek out which crimes might actually elicit punishment and which were simply brought on by religious bias. It seemed that the church had more of a say than he did nowadays, though, and he was starting to feel more and more like a puppet whose strings were being pulled and tangled every which way.   
He finished the short section he had been reading on Hypatia’s studies in the sand, barely aware that he was smiling as he imagined her drawing her diagrams with sticks and rope. He rolled the scroll back up and tucked it into his robes for safe keeping. The scrolls had certainly helped him in the wake of her murder—they were the only thing that seemed able to make him smile anymore.   
“Guards,” he called. “I am ready to resume.”  
The doors opened and people began to trickle into place again. Orestes sat back, propping his chin on his palm as he watched civilians approach his court.   
The first plaintiff of the session began to talk.  
He tried to listen, but a familiar color caught Orestes’ eye and he looked past the first wave of people to where a small band of Christian officials stood, waiting for their turn to talk to him. Orestes easily read their garb as the visiting Christians from Cyrene. He felt his stomach drop a little as he scanned the group for the familiar face he expected, but his attention was interrupted by the court that had dragged into session again. He snapped back to the situation at hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He gazed at the sandals of the man standing before him. He had dirty feet.  
“Prefect?”  
“Yes?” He pried his gaze away from the sandals of the plaintiff and looked across at the court, where one of the higher-ranking city officials had called to him.  
“Yes? What.”  
“You were asked a question.”  
Orestes sighed. “Ah…” He trailed off and looked across at the Plaintiff. “Please speak up again.”  
“Prefect, my neighbor harbors a statue of Serapis in his house,” The Plaintiff paused for dramatic emphasis. “And he places offerings at the feet of the statue every evening.”  
Orestes blinked at him. “Yes..?”  
“By law, the man needs to be tried and executed for worshipping that pagan filth. It offends me deeply.”  
Orestes sighed. “Show me your damned fatal wounds, then,” he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
“I couldn’t hear you, Prefect.”  
Orestes cleared his throat. “Give me the name of the house and I will seize the offensive material. Please go on your way.”  
The plaintiff was rooted, however, and he allowed his lips to part in protest. “Is it not the law for such an offense to be punishable by death?”  
Orestes held up a hand to silence him. “Have I not already given you my verdict on this matter? Are you so disrespectful that you would try my authority here, stranger?”  
“I am no stranger,” said the Plaintiff. “I have traveled to Alexandria to be with my Christian neighbors, not to be assaulted with pagan deities!”  
Orestes shook his head. “What is it you desire? Your neighbor’s land? Their cow? Some other petty inheritance? You people of Alexandria disgust me and I am ashamed to call myself one of you.”  
“Prefect--!” came a sharp reproach from the jury.   
“Leave the court now, or I will have you escorted to a cell—at least there you might have no superficial power over your neighbors.”  
The man looked like he would have said more, but apparently he thought better of it and went instead to release the address of the defendant in question to the officials.  
Orestes caught the eyes of a few of the members of the Jury. Lately, they had been less than satisfied with his performance, but today, it seemed like they were muttering more than usual, the buzz of their low voices adding to the headache that had started to settle into his skull. He swatted a fly away from his face, becoming frustrated immediately with the looks he was receiving from the older officials in the jury box. He shook his head a little, mostly to himself, and waved the next man forward from the waiting line. He looked back past the next case. The line looked endless. If they were all here to file their frivolous gripes…  
“Prefect, I’m addressing you today over the matter of my goat.” Said the new plaintiff that approached the middle of the courtroom. “Ever since the beggar woman on the street touched it, I fear a demon has been placed inside of it. She must be a pagan in hiding—I can think of no other means by which my goat may have become possessed—“  
“I can’t—“  
The plaintiff stopped, seeming quite taken-aback by the abrupt interruption from Orestes. He looked around at the Jury, who seemed just as baffled as he was. Orestes could feel everyone’s eyes on him in the sudden silence that descended, but he could contain himself no longer.   
“These accusations are just—in any other setting they might be seen as quite comical, but the tragic thing is that all of you are so moved by your hate that you actually believe the ridiculous accusations that fly out of your mouths.”  
“I—My goat—“  
“I’ve honestly had quite enough about goats, pigs, cows, horses—whatever have you—statues that radiate death into your home from your neighbor’s window... I used to have a great deal of love for you people long, long ago. I’m afraid none of that feeling is left for you.” He paused and looked out across the faces of the people in the court. Hypatia wouldn’t have stood for it and he had been putting up with it for too long. “I can’t do this anymore.”  
The Jury looked at him from where they stood, speechless and motionless. They could have been statues themselves.  
Orestes pushed himself to his feet. The court session was far from over, but he’d had his fill and he didn’t think he could take another accusatory word. “I think I’ll be done, now.” He said. “I’m through.”  
He walked across the platform and then down he steps toward the plaintiff. He continued on, walking past him and then toward the crowd. They parted instinctively, not entirely knowing what was going on.   
He knew.  
He had no life in Alexandria.


	3. Cyrene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are mended, or maybe they're just temporary soothed. Synesius offers Orestes shelter in Cyrene, but is his generosity truly genuine or is it an attempt to cover for his past sins? (sparks included if you think they should be this early).

Orestes gazed out over the ocean, leaning over the balcony railing behind the Prefect’s courtroom. The breeze had gained some of its life back and it tossed the dark curls of his hair into tangles over his shoulders. He watched the ships leave their port, setting off to somewhere far across the ocean. How freeing that must be.   
That couldn’t be him. He was still chained by the sacrifices he had made to rise to that position and maintain it all of these years. Politics were cruel and inhumane and they had taken their toll upon his spirit, burying it somewhere beneath the marble pillars of office and held tightly in its prison by the roof that housed such despicable members of the law. He had lost his best friend because of his official title. He hadn’t wanted to remain in the court after that, but he had thought he had owed it to Hypatia to make something more of his place there…to change things.   
There was no changing things—not really. The ball was set rolling down a steep hill and it was much too heavy now to hold back. He would have to keep ahead of it instead.   
“Orestes.”  
Orestes turned to look over his shoulder. His heart leapt, but he knew he couldn’t allow that part of him to drive his actions. “Synesius.” He smiled a little, wishing he could forget how they had parted the last time they spoke. “I knew I saw your colors in the courtroom…I assume you were there to see my defeat…”  
“I did.” Synesius’ tone carried more humor than it did judgment and Orestes was grateful for that. His mind was already so filled with irritation and worry and the last thing he needed was Synesius dredging up the bad blood between them.  
“I suppose Alexandria has lost her charm, if she ever had it.” Orestes said, his smile losing its sincerity. “But maybe I’ve just been blind to the peoples’ agenda the whole time.”  
Synesius looked out across the ocean, taking careful steps closer to where Orestes stood. “Alexandria’s changing and shifting to a new age. Some people are learning how to fit and some are trying desperately to carve a place where they don’t.”  
Orestes snorted. “Am I one of those carvers then?”  
Synesius raised an eyebrow. “Between you and me, I don’t think you’ve even made an effort to pick up a knife for that.”  
Orestes’ mouth twitched, unsure whether it was ok to smile or not. He glanced over at Synesius, who shook his head with a chuckle.   
“You’ve never fooled me before—don’t think you can start now.” He joined him to lean on the balcony. A large cargo ship passed through the harbor and a breeze whipped over the waves and through the grass just past them.   
“I didn’t think that I would actually leave, if I’m being completely honest,” Orestes said. “I always thought I might, but after everything, it seemed fair enough punishment that I should sit in that chair a little longer. I’m not entirely sure what happened today.”  
Synesius was silent while he thought about what to say to that. Orestes knew that he was probably navigating around mentioning Hypatia while still trying to leave his precious Christianity out of the conversation.   
“It seems you were just victim to an unending barrage from probably all of the ‘carvers’ in Alexandria. All on the same day.” He said finally. “It was an unfortunate mix on the wrong day, but it was probably meant to be. You don’t deserve the kind of punishment that comes with wading through all of that nonsense every day. I probably wouldn’t have even been able to stand for it as long as you had.”  
Orestes looked across at him, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Flattery.”  
Synesius grinned. “Truth.”  
Orestes looked back out at the ocean. “Why were you in court today, Synesius?”  
“I came to bid you goodbye.”  
Orestes squinted a little. “After all that I had said to you before this…The last time we saw eachother…”  
“It was a difficult time, Orestes. We were both upset.”  
“I’m sorry for it.”  
“I’m sorry, too.”  
There was a silence, broken only by the waves crashing against the piers and the cries from a pair of seagulls that had set out across the water.   
“I’m not exactly sure what to do now,” said Orestes. “When night falls everyone will hear of this and I’ll somehow be punished for my actions. Who knows. Alexandria has gotten quite creative. Maybe I’ll be hacked to bits.”  
“You won’t be.”  
“Your Christian brothers won’t burn me at the stake?”  
“Don’t.” said Synesius sharply. “You’re being overly-dramatic.”  
Orestes shook his head and sighed.   
There was another lull in the conversation. Orestes was thinking about all of the new methods of killing people the Christians of Alexandria had come up with over the past few weeks.  
“I’ll miss your company when I return home, Orestes,” Synesius said. “I thought I would miss Alexandria, but I’m sure that I was only thinking of missing you. Your spirit is in this place—or it was…”  
“Please don’t sign the death certificate yet, Synesius. I’m not quite there and I would love to live a little longer so that I might hear more of your nagging and Christian gibberish if that’s quite alright with you.”  
Orestes was expecting a chuckle or something, but instead, he could feel Synesius’ eyes on him. He turned to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean any offense—“  
“—Come to Cyrene with me, Orestes.”  
Orestes pushed himself off of the balcony. “What?”  
“Just…” Synesius sighed and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind his ear, gathering everything that he was preparing to say before pressing a palm to Orestes’ chest. “You’re not bound by any title or obligations anymore and there isn’t really anything else keeping you here. The people have become rather undesirable… Just come with me. I can help you settle in Cyrene. They’ve already gone through their initial issues and have balance out into quite a remarkable city.”  
Orestes looked at Synesius. “You’re serious.”  
“I am.”  
Orestes looked back at Alexandria behind them, giving it a long once-over before turning back to Synesius. “I suppose that’s better than being torn limb-from-limb by my would-be supporters, isn’t it?”


End file.
